You Have Always Counted To Me
by Xin0Lan
Summary: Certain ones count to Sherlock: Watsons, Lestrade, and others who wormed their way into his guarded heart- not always is it Molly. The one and only witty, sarcastic, and blind consulting detective who won't admit his deep affinity for those closest to him, but his friends know he does care for them. NO slash or vulgarity. WATCHING OVER EACH OTHER
1. Trois Mousquetaires I

**Trois Mousquetaires Parte I**

**This is for you, because I promised you one with "tres mosqueteros y sin el hombre y su mujer"...and I speak French not Spanish...I know not to trust Google Translate, but I hope the meaning comes out okay.**

* * *

Bearing the heel of his palms into the sockets, Sherlock massaged his eyes roughly trying to drive out the excruciating pain.

"Sherlock,"John tried to wrestle his hands away, but the man shrunk from the touch,"Don't! You are only making it worse. Stop. It won't help."

"No John! Leave me alone, yes it does. Rubbing helps. I don't care if it makes it worse, it's not like it'll ever get any better." He laughed scornfully, tilted his head back, and stumbled backwards to lean on the cool brick wall. Sometimes the orientation of his head took the pressure off the painful points. It really was a nuisance, and this wasn't the the first time the blinding pain stuck him whilst on a crime scene.

It slowed him down considerably... Stupid transport failure.

_ ... Blinding pain...well it certainly does live up to its name..._

"Sherlock, here. Move to your left a bit, there isn't debris there. Slide your back against the wall to sit on the cement blocks." The doctor gently guided his friend to rest against the wall giving him some sort of bearing amidst a cluttered crime scene.

Lestrade had long already sent all the extra personnel to wait by the cars and begin preliminary paperwork the moment Sherlock started to become agitated. No one wanted an audience when compromised, and no one dislikes uncalled for audiences more that Sherlock. Lestrade knew, so he took initiative to prevent injury to his friend's well-being and protect his personal life from being the source of lunchtime gossip. The cruel lunchtime gossip of the Yard ranged from one end of the specturm to the other on things that were trivial to down-right highly classified.

"Here mate," Lestrade produced a wet kerchief from his shirt breast pocket after dabbing some water on it, "The coolness will help." He applied the cloth over Sherlock's face and looked to John for what else they should do to help, to which the doctor mumbled to "just wait it out".

Slowly by slowly the pain started regressing and Sherlock was able to focus on something other than the burning pain. The coolness of the cloth help distract his mind from trying to focus on anything specific. Even with a face still contorted in a certain degree of discomfort, Sherlock tried to sit straight, but was held back by two firm hands- one from each of his friends crouched beside him.

"No. Stay. Just rest. There is no rush." Lestrade ordered in a whisper, "Wait a bit longer."

* * *

This pain Sherlock frequently experienced was of unknown origin or cause, but happened all of a sudden started to presented itself. So, it needed to be examined, thus, unwillingly he visited several highly recommended ones in the specialised profession of eye diseases from a list provided by his "brother dear Mycroft". The various visits did not serve much benefit to either party; one side ended up terribly upset and insulted whilst the other party was angry for not receiving a clear solution to the problem or a means to rectify it. Many ocular specialists pinned the pain origin as some place on the links between the eyeball to the rest of the internal cranial organs.

_Like you're of any use to me!? Even I know that and I am merely a humble and lowly graduate chemist with an interest in human anatomy/physiology. Why did I even bother waste time with your "expert opinion"?_

Sherlock remembered being called in for post-examination diagnoses one time and listened to the specialist explain the diagnosis in his accented English with traces of Asian pronunciations, "Due to the your present steady decline of perceivable, the signals between eye and brain are not communicating effectively. Therefore, this lack of message relays..."

Sherlock zoned out nearly immediately, the specialist was just like all his colleges who rambled on in some watered-down version of the medical diagnoses, but Sherlock stayed for John's sake because the dear doctor understood the unspoken words in the medical jargon the specialist tried to cleverly hide. The two doctors were engrossed in deep conversation about the details of advancing science and medicine so much so that he didn't want to drag John away from that.

In truth there wasn't anything to hide at all. There really wasn't a definite cause nor solution to the problem. It was just an unfortunate circumstance that came upon Sherlock ever since he was a mere zygote**.

After spending another ten minuets reclining against the wall, Sherlock attempted to move again and was welcomed with two strong arms hoisting him upright instead of pinning him down.

* * *

"Steady on mate," Lestrade cautioned as he held fast to Sherlock's shoulder. "Bit dizzy?"

The man grunted, so John interpreted as "No" and asked the next question, "Want to finish the case now or later?"

"What?" his head suddenly jerked up and stared straight ahead with words just rolling off his lips in lightening speed, "Sorry, was thinking. Were you talking? I heard noises. I tend to zone out if they're dull noises. We're still at the crime scene. I've solved it. Sorry, got a bit carried away. Had to file everything away in my Mind Palace. Did you have a question?"

Rolling his eyes sarcastically, John patted his friend on the back, "Good to have you back with us again, though I don't miss your pointed jabs. Could work on that, you know? Be a little nicer?"

"So you DO know the criminal? By jove, that is wonderful. Care to enlighten us mere mortals? Be much obliged if you did so good sir," Lestrade mocked with false airs causing his two companions to snicker ungracefully loud.

"You're terrible at pretending Greg,"John quipped and gave him a manly punch on the arm, "Nice acting though. But seriously, Sherlock. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Do stop fussing over me. It's not as if that inconvenient occurance was the first you two ever witnessed. It was the gardener. Just look at the layout! Can't you see exactly were he tread and how he thought 'how clever' he was to scuff up the area and make it look confusing." Sherlock gestured in the general direction of victim and of the debris strewn in complete disarray.

"Wow! How could you see that Sherlock," John wondered with such amazement, "I didn't even finish describing the track marks all over the wood and concrete before you were otherwise occupied. How could you have known what the scene looked like?"

Sherlock smiled.

John smiled.

Lestrade was speechless.

Sherlock smiled, a genuine smile that reached his whole face, and even though blind, his eyes still were just as expressive if he had sight. It was a rare occasion for the man to display such an amount of true, raw and completely honest sentiment. For John and Lestrade to both be recipients of it only proved the friendship of the three even stronger, as true expression was only saved for the ones he trusted most.

"You didn't need to finish, I solved the case before you started describing the other half of the room. John. If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success? I'll leave you to ponder that."

He smiled again, only this time it was a cryptic one.

"I solves cases for a living John, now it's your turn. Solve it and you'll understand everything perfectly." With those final words, Sherlock latched on to his anchor and followed the doctor out to the circle of officers milling around. Lestrade walked in sync with Sherlock's deliberate steps. He castted sideways glances at John, the two holding an entire conversation with their eyes. The DI too wore a cryptic smile, but would not say why when John cocked his head with confusion.

"I know the answer Sherlock," he whispered into the taller man's ear,"I won't tell him. You should do that, if he doesn't guess it. Don't leave him wondering. The answer's too good to keep secret."

"Don't worry. He will deduce the answer soon enough. I am certain of it."

* * *

**A-N:**

*****Please read Chapter 11 "His Mind Palace" to understand the reference of Sherlock congenital condition to becoming blind as an adult found in "In Whose Eyes?".**

**This is a plot bunny that came to mind one day after I went back to read Chapter 5 of this story "Change is Good" when trying to expand the plot of the present multi-chapter story I'm writing, "Watching Over Each Other". I link my writing across stories, so. Each chapter in this story stands alone, but can also be read to have more understanding on a particular subject discussed in another multi-chapter story.**

**This one-shot is a reference to Sherlock's self-experimentation on his eyeballs, and his comment about surgery. (Chapter 5, this story)**

**(Well as everyone knows, he prefers to take eyeballs in his morning tea along side milk...finding out he would be best man) Hehe!**

**Part II to come soon.**


	2. Trois Mousquetaires II

**Trois Mousquetaires Parte Deux**

* * *

_You didn't need to finish, I solved the case before you started describing the other half of the room," Sherlock faced him," John. If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success? I'll leave you to ponder that."_

_He smiled cryptically then continued softly, "I solves cases for a living John, now it's your turn. Solve it and you'll understand everything perfectly."_

_With those final words, Sherlock latched on to his anchor and followed the doctor out to the circle of officers milling around. Lestrade walked in sync with Sherlock's deliberate steps casting sideways glances at John, the two holding an entire conversation with their eyes. Lestade knew the answer, but wouldn't say._

* * *

Concluding everything related to the case, Sherlock and John bid the Yarders goodbye and accepted Lestrade's offer to drive them back to the flat.

All the while, John turned over Sherlock's cryptic words over and over in his mind.

_What does that man mean!? I don't know what he says half the time because he rambles so fast and the other half of the time I can't follow his train of scattered thoughts. He said, 'If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success? I'll leave you to ponder that.'_

_What does he want me to do? Figure out how he solves a case with his eyes shut? He did that already, countless of times on those "dull old unsolved" cases Greg would bring over to stave off his boredom. We worked out a system long ago when he first received his diagnosis, it's a good system. I observed the details of the scene, Lestrade read the reports, and he conjures up the answers with that massive (sometimes egotistical) intellect of his._

_I just don't understand how he can actually accurately describe something that he can't actually see or know even exists because I haven't told him about it yet, let alone figure out the motive and criminal before I've finished talking. I'd tell him again, but his head is already puffed out enough. He really is just simply amazing, to connect all the dots that no one else could accomplish._

"Sherlock," John tapped the man's arm, "Will you tell me? What's the reason to your success?"

"No."

He simply said "no" and looked out the window, didn't provide any explanation, and just denied his friend the answer to the simple question.

"Why not? Come on, tell me please? That's your job to solve cases, I don't do that sort of stuff." John pressed the man for information, hoping to receive more than just one word answers.

"Wrong. It's OUR job to solve cases. We do 'that stuff'. You've an intelligent brain John, use it. The answer isn't as elusive as you think it is. Don't make it complex, it's not so."

Poking the good detective inspector on the shoulder from his seat behind the driver side, Sherlock warned, " and don't give him hints Lestrade."

"Won't breathe a word of it, promise Sherlock," he reassured glancing through the rear-view mirror to watch the man's satisfied expression.

"This really isn't fair, Greg! Why are you taking his side?" jabbing his finger at his currently annoying best friend, "How could YOU possibly know the answer to his ambiguous comment about solving cases without actually knowing the crime scene? Did he let you in on this 'little case' to test me?"

"Nah. Not a test mate," Lestrade talked to John through the rear-view mirror, "Like Sherlock said, don't make it complex. The answer is staring you in the face. Think about it. I'll say no more on the subject."

"Fine. Be that way, both of you." John glared out the window for the duration of their ride.

_Insufferable fools, making me riled up about some silly brain-teaser. I'll get them to slip up soon enough and tell me the answer. After all, they both said the answer was simple enough._

* * *

The three trudged up the flight of stairs and each flopped on their respective pieces of furniture, Lestrade taking the sofa.

"Thanks for the lift mate, care for a cuppa?" John stood up immediately after he sat down.

"Sure, why not. I've got time now the case is done thanks to you two." He followed John to the kitchen and started looking for tea making supplies.

Meanwhile Sherlock hastily announced he would bring back Chinese take-away dinner, and not to do anything unintelligent while he was away, with the latter comment directed to Greg about dropping hints.

"Ok, thanks! Same to you, don't do anything unintelligent! See you soon," John answered as Sherlock skipped lightheartedly down the last few steps and straight out the front door.

Donning the beloved Belstaff coat and pulling out his white cane, Sherlock boldly sauntered off to the restaurant a few streets away.

John smiled to himself, he felt like a fool for doing so, but in truth the reason for the smile was far from a foolish one.

"What's got you so worked up now?" Greg prompted taking in John's happy expression whilst setting the kettle to boil.

The doctor was so engrossed in his reverie that Greg had to tap three times for his attention. "Sorry, what?" he answered without thinking.

"You sound like Sherlock now when he decides to un-zone himself out from the world," Greg commented remembering John's exact words to the consulting detective from earlier at the crime scene.

"Oh, yea...very bad habit," bowing his head in shame, "His fault. I learnt it from him. Working on not doing that. Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. I missed your question, please repeat."

"I said, 'What are you smiling about, thought of something pleasant? I want to know what that was."

"Oh that," John leant against the counter top and crossed his arms, a little laugh escaping his lips before he contained, "Well, it's nothing really. Just that whenever, I see Sherlock go anywhere, I'm reminded of what things were like before they reached this point," he gestured to Sherlock's chair, "You saw him waltz out there in one fluid movement. He wasn't like that months ago, remember?"

Greg nodded solemnly, reliving the memories of frequent times he dropped by the flat for supper and Sherlock insisted on gluing himself to "His" chair all night.

"Yes, he didn't like moving, much less going out places. He only went where you went, insisted you stay right at his side for his every waking moment outside the flat. However, that really hasn't changed, you know, he still prefers your companionship over anyone else."

"My point exactly, he wouldn't leave my side, now now he does, like now for example. Whenever I see him so self-assured I remember he wasn't like that. It just brought back a happy thought to the day he announced his request to go somewhere alone. He left in the same manner he did just now. Buttoned up his Belstaff, whipped out that white cane, and waltzed right out the door without a single hesitant step in his stride."

"And I remember the day," Greg added without missing a beat, "Sherlock marched into the Yard with the cane in hand and not latched on to you. You," he said pointedly, "couldn't keep that Cheshire-grin off your face all day."

John ducked his head and slight looked embarrassed at Greg remembering that particular detail, "Yea, I was just really proud of him for finally not needing me any more. I mean, he still prefers to take my elbow if we're in on a crowded street, or in some rickety old abandoned house as the crime scene, more for safety precaution than anything else, but generally speaking he likes his independence. I wouldn't ever want to be a hindrance to him."

Unexpectedly a hand reached out and clamped on to John's shoulder, thankfully the uninjured one. It startled the man so much that his head jerked up in confusion, not realising fully what had just occurred.

With a perplexed look, John opened his mouth to ask why he was being gripped so tightly, but Greg merely held up his hand to let the question die on his lips, his mouth still gaping open like a fish out on land.

His face did not show his usual calm and pleasant state of mind, rather it almost looked sad, like some one had deeply offended him.

"John," he at last spoke in a very tender voice, one the doctor had never heard him use before at all,"perhaps you are the blind one. Not Sherlock. Why can you not see what is clearly laid out in front of you? Give me one solid reason you think you're a hindrance to Sherlock's independence, and heaven forbid, unwanted by that man?"

Greg could see the mental gears in John's head fall of their axles from being jolted to a sudden halt with such a loaded question.

Unable to provide a single word of disagreement John resigned to closing his mouth, thus which the wiser and older man continued, "Now do you understand why Sherlock said 'the answer isn't as elusive as you think it is?'

Trying to comprehend then entire dialogue, John nodded slowly but still didn't really see the answer clearly.

The shrill whistle of the kettle broke the stiff ambiance.

Not a moment after the tea was poured, Sherlock came in the same fashion he had left, waltzing right into the sitting room arms loaded with multiple take-away container. Deftly avoiding the edge of the rug and the sharp table corner, he deposited the parcels on the kitchen counter and greeted his friends.

"I'm pleased to see you two didn't do anything outrageously unintelligent during my brief absence," then held up a box of chicken fried rice, "Starving?"

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**Thanking for commenting!**

**TBC. Full author's note following last part of LTM. "Watching Over Each Other" will be updated after part 3 has been posted. **


	3. Trois Mousquetaires III

**Trois Mousquetaires Parte III**

* * *

Three men with fully bellies lounged lazily on the assorted furniture in the sitting room jabbering away in some trial nonsense jumping topics left and right. All of a sudden, Sherlock righted himself sitting ramrod straight and planted his feet firmly.

"John. Describe the place for me," he asked politely.

"Why? Sherlock, you know what the flat looks like. Do you want something specific?"

"No. Nothing. Look at the room for me, start in the far corner by the door. Treat it like a crime scene."

Lestrade and John exchanges shrugs, neither knew what game he was playing.

"Okay. So in that corner is the poor sad wallpaper with the six bullet holes and right of it is the floor lamp stand with a defective bulb and faded lamp shade, then there's..."

By the time John had described half of the area, Sherlock spoke again,"Good. Now it's my turn to see for you. Close your eyes and don't cheat, Lestrade's vision is just fine, he'll tell me if yours aren't closed."

"Fine, they're closed," he turned to face the two men squarely,"See Lestrade, closed. Happy Sherlock?"

"Yes, now picking up where you left off. There is the rug with the top left corner curled up, and the fringe is nearly worn down shreds. The table on top looks in the same condition as the rug. Worn out thoroughly with several scratch marks, missing spots of varnish, and a cup ring stain from when you left your iced drink out on the wood too long..."

Little by little Sherlock worked his way through all the other pieces of furniture. John had started describing the each specific areas under his breath before Sherlock even had a chance to finish his sentence. Strange of all was the fact of John not being aware he was mumbling away, so Sherlock let his voice trail off when John started detailing the black leather chair so beloved by the consulting detective.

Sherlock simply sat there and stared at his best friend wondering how much longer it was take him to solve 'this case'.

"John," he looked straight at the man, "Did you realise you started speaking when I was telling you the layout of this room? In fact toward the latter portions, you beat me to describing the details."

Amazed by his own unknown actions, John covered his open mouth with surprise, "I can't believe I did that. I honestly didn't even know I was doing that. Wow, guess I could see what next you were going to describe based on what you had already told me, so I just unintentionally spoke it."

Making no comment to John's, he simply repeated the original question again "John. If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success," then leant back in the chair drumming his finger on the armrest waiting for his best friend to finally realise the answer.

Greg gave him a pointed look and silently mouthed, "it's obvious."

"Well...," John started then paused.

It finally dawned on him.

"Oh," was all he said and sank deeper into his cushion contemplating the depth of Sherlock's point. Finally those cryptic words made sense..."what might you deduce as the reason for my success?"

_Sherlock! I don't know what to say in response to that. I...I never knew you thought of me like that? Thought of us like that. I really am the blind one, like Greg pointed out. I've always made it my point to let you do whatever you wanted as long as it was with in reason and safe, I just assumed you like doing everything yourself..._

"Well," Sherlock prompted, waiting for John to explain his understanding of the situation, "I want to hear you say it."

"Sherlock, I don't know what to say. I... I...wow...never ever thought of our being together like that, especially when at crime scenes," he suddenly felt the impulse to hug his best friend.

"That's not what I want to hear, you know what I want. Tell me," he countered tapping his foot softly on the rug.

As John pulled the man up into a firm hug then whispered softly into his ear, "I am the reason for your success."

"Yes you are," breaking the hug he stared straight into John's eyes and spoke clearly, "YOU are the reason for OUR successful streak on every single case. I taught you how to observe as I once could, so now you know exactly how describe every detail with such precision. Due to your well-worded detail specific observations, I am able to visualise the rest of the area and plot out a map of the area."

"So that's how you solved the case with only half of the scene. Half of it you "saw" and the other half you "assumed". I understand now why you had me describe the flat," he guided his friend back to sit down. Taking his chair, he pointed a finger to Greg accusingly, "How on earth could you have known the answer to his question from the start? He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Oi! Nope, man didn't say a word, I just knew. I've always know. That was simple question, anyone could answer that in a heart beart, well anyone and everyone except you. Honest and true, I would wager majority of the Yard could have told you the answer," he chuckled and patted Sherlock's back in a manly manner, "There, I told you I wouldn't say a thing. Well, I did start dropping hints, but poor sod didn't catch on. No offense John, but I would have thought you might as least caught on when I became adamant in disproving your incorrect thinking on being a hindrance or unwanted."

Now Sherlock chuckled, much to John's embarrassment, "You amaze me constantly with your silly thoughts on non-consequential subjects. Really now, hindrance and being unwanted? I recall hearing those words on occasions past. Who put those thoughts in your mind?"

Not letting his friend get a word in edge-wise, he rambled on quickly, "As far as I'm concerned at present, none of your current friends or dear wife feel that way about you. So, that only leaves one option left. You concocted those outrageously unintelligent, stupid, demeaning, worthless, and simply wrong notions to clutter your mind! I thought you said you need mind space for important things. John. If you choose those idiotic notions for filling up space, then I suggest you listen to my brilliant ideas of committing the entire Tube lines, bus routes, and map of London roads to your memory, those will serve you a much better purpose."

By the time Sherlock finished his soap-box speech, he was no longer sitting, but towered over the smaller man pressed tightly against the back of his chair looking slightly worried and a bit on the petrified spectrum. He did look rather flushed and lacked his cool, nonchalant finesse because of just finished jumping all over John's erroneous thoughts.

_Never thought Sherlock would get so defensive about anything, turns out I'm wrong. He's lost his temper countless times, especially when I picked him off the streets from his terrible lifestyle, helped him return to becoming a decent and respectable British citizen. However, this is the only time I know of to date in which he looses his calm demeanour over a topic like this. In the past it was lost over drugs, arguing with Mycroft, but never about this!_

"I'm sorry Sherlock," John squeaked out, "I didn't know you would be so worked up about it, I was wrong. It is a stupid thought, I don't know what I was thinking. It won't happen again, promise."

"Good. Make sure you keep it. Now give me your hand quick, it's coming again." Sherlock grasped one hand on John's forearm to steady himself. Not loosing another second, both him and Lestrade sprung from their places and guided their friend to lay on the sofa.

_Again with these blasted excruciating headaches_!

They came at such inopportune moments, but for once he felt a very tiny amount of pleasure for it to present itself.

_Now John has a chance to prove to himself he will never be unwanted or a hindrance to me._

It was his last thought before the pain sucked him into a state of unconsciousness. John couldn't help but notice the faint smile on his best friend's face as his doctoring side took over. Greg saw John smile because he notice the smile. So he smiled too.

_Tous pour un, un pour tous. _(All for one, one for all.)

-Charles de Batz de Castelmore d'Artagnan.

* * *

**A-N:**

**Thank you for reading and all the new favourites/ follows. I hope you've enjoyed the first story featuring the Three Musketeers, also known as, Sherlock-John-Lestrade adventures. I have plans to write more. **

**"Watching Over Each Other" will be updated soon as I was editing this story so it delayed the other one. Poll is available on my bio page if interested in participating.**

**For those that are not familiar with "Les Trois Mousquetaires", it is a French adventure story written by Alexandre Dumas Pere about three men and their new friend (D'Artagnan) : Athos, Aramis, Porthos. They are the _M__ousquetaires de la maison militaire du roi __\- _Royal musketeers of the French monarchy. D'Artagnan isn't initially part of it. He later does join the regiment, and Athos servers under him for a time being.**


	4. What Happened to Us?

**What Happened to Us?**

* * *

"What happened to us Sherlock?"

John took his usual seat in the sitting room, but not the room at Baker Street. He placed a steaming cup of tea into his long time friend's hands. Together each took a sip from his own cup and contemplated the question posed even deeper, letting the warmth of the slow-burning fire fill up the quaint room with wonderful thoughts of their days in the prime of health.

Yes, they were both no longer at Baker street any more.

They were far far away from London now. London seems like a foreign notion to the aged men.

The two were living in little cottage houses side by side with their respective families which were graciously provided by Mycroft, said man had also had retired from his previous lifestyle of "being The British Government" to simply "a husband of a charming, smart, and quick-witted lady."

In due time, the close-knit family friends came to be comprised of: three Holmes, four Watsons, and the elder Holmes and his wife sans offspring for the time being.

The three men were quite content with their current state in life. Each had taken a wife and two of them were adding to the list growing of titles: first as Husband, then Father, and now Grandfather.

"I don't know," came the hushed reply. "Truly, I don't know. What do you think, my dear Doctor?" and gestured accordingly.

"Likewise. It seems just as if one day we were chasing down some band of criminals through the hidden alleys of the Tube and now suddenly we end up here!" John waved his free hand around for emphasis forgetting Sherlock wouldn't have seen it, "And of all things- they are related to each other." He mused over his comment then slowly the situation dawned on him again for about the millionth time, "Scary isn't it!? Still can't believe I'll be a grandad."

"Yes I concur. Quite right on almost all accounts. You forget. I, too, will be a granddad as we are relatives now by marriage. That itself, is worthy to bring chills down to the bone." He shivered to make the point, "I am not terribly worried now though, she's not due until a bit longer."

Sherlock smirked at his best friend/relative. "Besides. You neglect the slight detail of YOU and MYCROFT as relatives. What say you to that?"

John choked on his tea, "Oh! I had forgotten about that. I mean, I know how family ties work, but it just didn't occur to me until you mentioned it. I suppose it is a thought I don't care to entertain much." He laughed and took a sip, cautious this time not to choke.

"Don't let Mycroft catch you saying that! You'll regret it," Sherlock quipped, "Trust me on this. I'm unfortunately related to him by blood."

* * *

The two fell into a laps of companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts of many different things throughout their intertwined lives.

Their lives were not as busy as they once were. There were no longer thrilling chases with "blood pumping through our veins", exciting deductions, and interesting cases to solve. Yet, each man had the thrilling and wonderful adventure of balancing parenthood along with solving some relatively "mild" cases.

Parenthood itself proved to be rather challenging, one neither man expected of such. It was a "case", according to Sherlock, but a case that wasn't quite. When his first-born was in his arms, Sherlock admitted wholly, sincerely, and finally accepting some things were just beyond his full control. His son Edward was most precious.**

Graced with a head full of glistening grey short curls and coupled with a look that could have never have an equal, Sherlock still retained his dignified and intimidating appearance to all who set eyes on him. Age had not touched his beautiful, precious, and intricate mind where he Mind Palace housed his entire life story. Every detail was meticulously recorded into the proper file and placed in a designated room. His favourite room was and shall always be called "Family".

Every single person that made a drastic impact for bettering his life was filed away in that sacred room. His wife and children, John and his family, the dear detective inspector whose name finally reached Sherlock's mind and actually stayed there. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft and his wife had their own room special room, he was blood. Blood relations had to be handled labelled differently according to Sherlock's made up Mind Palace Rules.

"I suppose we've have a very good life, that is what has happened to us." Sherlock uttered aloud but not directly to anyone. He nodded curtly to solidify the statement to himself. "Yes. I've quite enjoyed everything that has happened. Granted, some are less favourable than others," gesturing to his sightless eyes^^," but it is pleasing to me overall."

"Yes, You're right Sherlock," John mused slowly, taking in his friend's words. "This IS the good life. Seems like I've come full circle. Back to how we first met. You, me, a cane and both of us sitting in front of the fire place. Only now each or us wields one." He chuckled lightly.

"Ah, right you are on that, but I will have you know Mine is much better than yours on any given point." He plucked the folded cane off the floor and gave a small twirl before subconsciously began rubbing the grooves of the black rubber grip.

"Of course I could always paint mine white and red- tipped, but then that would get me on the wrong side of the law." He watched Sherlock's expression turn from smirking to full out gloating over something so trivial.

"But you would never paint your cane John. If you did, I'm positively sure it's beyond Lestrade's power to save from punishment of it. Besides the cane's value would be lost. A hand-crafted oak cane varnished in roan and your initials carved just under the handle of it, what a shame to tarnish it's good quality.

"No, I would never. Mary might beat me with it whilst screaming for me to stop being so childish."

Sherlock laughed quietly, reliving the precious moment John stumbled and limped his way into Sherlock's crazy life and stayed.

John stayed.

From the moment the doctor fumbled into that morgue lab room and was genuinely astounded with the consulting detective's near accurate spiel on his entire life, the doctor instantly became his flatmate, crimes scene partner, best friend, best man, and now fellow granddad of the Holmes-Watson family.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and commenting! **

****Please read Chapters 4, 6, and 7-8. Those chapters contain different snippets of events surrounding the Holmes family of three.**

**^^ Information about Sherlock's sightless eyes are in the story "Watching Over Each Other". **


	5. Some Days Just Are So

**-Some Days-**

* * *

Yesterday felt like heaven on earth.

Yesterday felt like paradise.

Yesterday the sun shone.

X

Today was to complete opposite.

Today was just terrible.

Today the sun hid behind a down pour of massive raindrops.

X

Sherlock woke up with a piercing headache.

Sherlock ran into the armoire door this morning.

Sherlock punched the faucet this morning.

Sherlock cut his finger breaking the teacup.

Sherlock barrelled into the corner of the table.

X

Today was not good. Molly knew.

Molly sighed sadly then determination sat in her eyes.

Molly pleaded for enough strength to see the day end.

X

Molly dressed him in the black suit.

Molly made his tea.

Molly kissed his bruised hand.

X

Molly tended to his cut.

Molly read to him.

Molly made him eat.

X

Sherlock curled up in his chair.

Sherlock wandered in his Mind Palace.

Sherlock went back to yesterday's bliss.

X

Sherlock didn't want to leave there.

Sherlock didn't want Estella.

Sherlock didn't want his Work.

X

Lestrade didn't call for his help.

Lestrade brought drinks over.

Lestrade brought desserts.

X

The Watsons came over for supper.

The Watsons stayed late.

The Watsons told their childhood stories.

The Watsons made The Holmes laugh.

The Watsons made Sherlock forget his misery.

X

Molly didn't say a word about his experiment left on the kitchen table.

Molly didn't say a word about the flat being disorganised.

Molly didn't say a word about him not doing anything productive all day.

X

Sherlock felt helpless.

Sherlock felt trapped.

Sherlock felt depressed.

X

Sherlock felt angry at everything.

Sherlock shouted at John.

Sherlock snapped at Molly.

X

Sherlock felt guilty.

Sherlock apologised.

Sherlock meant what he said.

X

John hugged him, then forgave him.

Molly kissed him and held him tight.

She had already forgiven every wrong word he might say that morning.

X

Sherlock's shoulder hurt from the armoire.

Sherlock's hurt from the cut and bruise.

Sherlock's head spun out of control.

X

Molly massaged his pain.

Molly dressed his wounds.

Molly read to him.

X

Molly built the fire strong.

Molly laced her fingers in his.

Molly sat there in silence basking in its warmth with him.

X

Molly trace his visage with a gentle finger.

Molly kissed his scarred hands decorated by the toll of his work.

Then his flushed cheeks painted by the glowing flame.

Then his beautiful glistening yet unseeing eyes.

Then his sweet lips and murmured, "I love you. I will always be at your side."

X

Tomorrow the sky would be blue and beautiful. But not today.

Some days the sky was black and ominous. That was today.

There would be many more Worst Days to come. This was neither their first not last of the Worst Days.

There were days when all he wanted was to see the stars' reflection dance in and out of the black curtain every night as he gazed loving into his Molly's.

On the worst days when nothing seemed to go properly for Sherlock, he knew the one aspect would never fail him.

Some days were beautiful and some days were miserable, but everyday he had his best friend who was also his loving wife.


	6. This One Night at the Cafe

**Night at the Cafe**

* * *

"Bang!"

An alarming thud landed at the foot of the staircase, but Mrs. Hudson didn't even flinch from sipping her tea, just merely screeched, "Sherlock Holmes! How many times have I told you NOT to slide down the banister?!" Said man stood absolutely still counting the seconds, then just as predicted, there was an awful hiss of a chair being scrapped along the wood floor followed by short deliberate steps of heels clicking. Judging by its sound, Sherlock concluded his landlady had gone out with her friends that afternoon donned in her favourite dress. That pastel blue dress with the white floral pattern was always worn with those particular heels he heard just now, and she only wore that dress if she had somewhere special to be.

He merely rolled his eyes and huffed annoyingly a reply, "Far too many times, I lost count after the third day I discovered this was the most efficient way of travelling down the flight of steps. It has been exactly two months now, I have no desire to change my newfound habit." He straightened his coat and scarf, then whipped out his Sword. Besides, If you think about Mrs. Hudson, this is actually the safest means of travelling given my condition. If I were to travel by dreadfully ordinary and conventional means, then there is always the chance of me missing a step or misjudging a distance, to which I could fall and break several bones. That would only create a plethora of unnecessary issues." He stabbed the floor twice as if to emphasise his point.

"it really isn't the safest way, but just be careful and come home in one piece all safe and sound, can you do that for me?" Before he could open his mouth to reply, Mrs. Hudson smothered him with a bone-crushing hug.

_Nope! I won't have broken bones from falling down the stairs, it will come from my landlady. How reassuring... Ugh! Gives me the chills just imagining this!_

"Mrs. Hudson!" He finally managed to say whilst trying batting away her hands, and failing at it, "I'm fine. Do stop fussing over me. My scarf was tied perfectly fine, now the seams are twisted. No! My coat collar Always stays up. Molly likes it that way, and it annoys John. Double success. Goodbye. I will come home later. Do keep yourself warm though. It is suppose to drop tonight."

* * *

Braving the cold winter winds and armed with his Sword, Sherlock sauntered to the café where he and Molly had planned to meet for a meal. There was no reason to rush; it was barely a ten minuet walk but he didn't want to be late, for Molly was never late on their meetings.

Molly caught sight of him crossing the last intersection, thus rushed to the end of the pavement to greet him. A little voice in her head observed: _Sherlock, just look at you! Six months ago no one would have even imagined this, you taking on the streets without a single faltering step. You doubted yourself too. I'm so proud of you._

"Sherlock!"

He stopped and smiled at his name. Only one person in the world was able to call his name in that exact manner with a specific pronunciation and syllable stress.

"Molly," he reached out for her. The hand received a quick squeeze from a small delicate one. "How are you? Hungry?"

"I'm fine. Not hungry. Let's have dinner," she replied with a voice full of humour. He hooked his free arm around her petite form, and they entered the café together.

* * *

The discussion during dinner was lively and somewhat work oriented, so much talk of dead bodies and crime scenes would have turned away most from dinning, but the couple thrived in that topic. It was, as awkward as it seemed, their bonding element. _Cadavers._

Listening to Sherlock describe his latest success from the Yard, Molly absentmindedly reached out and straightened out the folds on his scarf. He became aware of her touch a moment later and stopped mid-sentence, "Molly, how much time have you been spending with Mrs. Hudson?"

"Not particularly more than usual, why do you ask?"

"Because this," clasping his hands over hers and chuckled at the thought from earlier, "is exactly what Mrs. Hudson fusses about constantly. She straightened my scarf just before I left the flat."

"Well then, I can only surmise that she also reprimanded you for sliding down the banister again," she battened his hand away playfully continuing to straighten his appearance, "oh don't look so surprised. I know you better than you think. You did, didn't you? Only because the Watsons are away right now. It's good they live with you so you don't do it often."

"Why must everyone worry about it? I did it all the time as a child, granted it did drive Mummy furious, but Mycroft did it too! Can you imagine the little plump doughnut rolling down the stairs! It was such a sight to see. Father always laughed which made Mummy angry with him too." Sherlock chucked at the memory.

"What I would give to see my brother-in-law to be in that state! I can only dream of such a silly moment," Molly's expression lost the cheerfulness a second later," I worry, Mrs. Hudson and the Watsons worry because we never forgot what happened that one time you tried that stunt. I'm sure you remember too, don't you? It scared us Sherlock, maybe not for you because you were not conscious for most if it. Her voice grew more and more unsettled at the events replayed in her mind, "Just went flying down the banister and flung yourself right into the front door with a solid thwack then the floor equally hard. Knocked you senseless for quite a time all because you misjudged the length of the banister left to slide. We saw the after effect, a lifeless heap of coat and sprawled out limbs."

Sherlock rubbed her hand gently, "Molly, I don't forget, I never will. It never will happened again. It won't happen again. Ok?"

"Can you promise me not to do it ever again, please?" She kissed his hand, "You don't know Sherlock, it could happen again. What if no one was home when it happened, you would have been there for a lot time without care."

"Very well, I will do my best to refrain from it. I'm sorry I frightened you," he kissed her hand, "Is our dessert ever going to come?" Sherlock huffed an annoyed sigh, so Molly glanced around the room hoping to catch sight of their tray, then her eyes grew wide when she saw the sweet. "Sherlock, what on earth is this? This isn't on the menu at all, so extravagant!"

"I take you like it then given your expression of surprise. The owner owes me a few favours so I asked for his specialty dessert as partial payment of it. He was the head chef at a well-known high class restaurant, but the management changed so he started up the café instead. A few mishaps in between so that's where I helped out." He inched his fingers across the table until it came in contact with the cold plate, then pushed it in front of his pathologist. "Eat, I assure you it is quite good."

Molly giggled softly at the fancy chocolate covered dish sitting before her, she took a strawberry and bite of cake on her fork and examined it, "It looks too pretty to eat!"

"Of course you would say that," Sherlock stifled a small laugh, "...just eat it, it'll taste bad if you let it sit out too long." Molly ate her bite and took another one. "Open," she said cupping his chin with her free feeding him a bite of the heavenly dessert. "Thank you Sherlock, I really enjoyed this. All of it." With a mouth full of chocolate fluffiness it was impossible to respond, so he just nodded and smiled.

Taking turned feeding each other they finished off the dessert quickly, but not before creating a little food fight, seeing who could get the most chocolate whipped crème on the other person's face. With full tummies and happy hearts, hither two lovebirds set off to their next place on their Favourite Places List: the park at night because of its serenity with barely anyone wandering its grounds.

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. **

**Follows, favourites, and comment are more than appreciated.**


	7. Simply Beautiful

**Beautiful Baby**

* * *

_SETTING: Many years into the life of the Baker Street tenants. _

John Watson placed a small bundle in the eldest Holmes. "Bring the child to your father. He's waiting in room." The child did as told and walked carefully to Papa, who was entertaining the younger Holmes siblings and the older ones of the Watson children. "Papa, hold out your arms, the baby is here," a voice called out whilst placing the blankets into those long musician arms.

A muffled whimper escaped from the blankets and all noise cease at that moment. Every single child crowded around the adult eagerly awaiting their first look at the latest addition to the large blended family. Since the two families shared the same building the children became collectively know as Watson-Holmes or vice versa.

"At last the anticipation is over, what does the child look like?" Sherlock said and signed in the air at the same time then waited. A pair of delicate fingers came reaching out from the left slipped under his and signed, "A beautiful baby. Eyes small and oval with little wisps of soft fuzz poking from the head. Feel the features, they are so tiny." Papa traced his fingertips lightly over the sleeping baby's oval eyes and soft fuzz, then held the itty bitty fist in the palm of his hand. "Yes, you are right indeed. A beautiful baby," Sherlock signed with one hand.

A few minuets later Doctor Watson came in wearing a big smile and his white coat. "Daddy! Daddy!" his youngest ones cried joyfully jumping up and down, "Did you see the baby? Isn't the baby beautiful? That's what Papa says, is he right?"

"Of course. Papa is never wrong when it comes to observing." Daddy answered, kneeling besides Papa to look at the newborn. "Truly a miracle Sherlock. Just like all of our children when each were born. She is resting, shall we give our congratulations now to them?"

"Yes, I'm sure the children will be glad to finally see Mummy." Sherlock handed the infant back to John and stood up straightening his suit. A small delicate hand cemented itself in Sherlock's and led him out behind John, and with the rest of the the children trailing like little ducklings.

* * *

**A-N: Did you enjoy it? I hope you did. I really like writing this vague form of writing, it lets the reader decide a lot of the storyline subconsciously. Read "Please, Don't Go!" as another example of such writing. **

**I'd love to know your answer to the questions: **

**1- What is the gender of each child mentioned: the messenger, the one who is deaf, the newborn and what made you think of that? **

**2- Who's child is it: Holmes' or Watson's? (Did you have to reread part of it because your brain subconsciously assigned the child as Watson's knowing John is a doctor and is handing the child away?)**

**It is highly unlikely two persons will say the same answers for all the aforementioned characters. **

**"Watching Over Each Other" has been updated and currently working on the next chapter. Yea, no writer's block for me at the moment. I hope it stays like this.**


	8. Yes! Change is Very Good

**Change is Good **

* * *

It was a quiet evening with nothing much going on. Dinner had just finished, and the Watsons were in the kitchen washing up the plates, so that left Molly needing to find something to occupy herself. She had been banned from the kitchen that evening, it was suppose to be an enjoyable night with her fiancé, thus- per doctor's orders- forbidden to cook or clean at all that weekend. Her fiancé, who took as much interest in washing up as a cat in water, was glad he had gotten out free in his turn to do "brain-rotting" work, as he so affectionately called it.

"Molly," he addressed her from His seat, "What would you like to do this evening? John tells me that I am suppose to let you decide these sort of activities and not complain."

"I don't know. Did you have anything in mind?" Molly opened his arms so she could sit sideways in his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her small frame and laird his chin on her shoulder, "Several ideas, but I do not know if they constitute as appropriate activities for these "date nights", John didn't give specifics on what was acceptable."

A cheerful laugh rang in his ears before his fiancée spoke, " Sherlock, I have known you for so many years now, long before John came into the picture. I know you are never one to follow social norms, if you did, I would be worried. Tell me them."

"Very well," he ticked them off his fingers as he described each one, "First, we could start a new experiment on the properties of corrosive acids on the pair of lungs you gave me the other day, or we could experiment on the eyeball. I've been eager to test it's resilience to a variety of chemicals and other fluids, but I need someone to help me. No one will, " he then leaned toward her ear and whispered," I wouldn't tell John though about this. He's been adamantly opposing any talk of it long before the ocular surgery happened. He felt Molly's hand slightly twitch so he hastily amended, "If those don't suit your liking, what if I let Estella sing for you? Or you could pick something else?"

"I like the last option best. You promised to let me hear your latest composition. It's finished?" He nodded. She continued, "I do have to agree with John though, I really dislike the notion of you experimenting on yourself, even if it isn't attached to you anymore. I don't even want to know how you managed to get the eye anyway, there are all sorts of rules and paperwork for that type of business," she brushed his curls away from his forehead and ran her finger lightly around the space where the missing organ had once resided. "It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"

"Not like it did three months ago," he murmured enjoying her cool touch. "What about this one? The right eye," she asked and gently brushing his eyes closed, "does it bother you?"

"I ignore it and it goes away. Simple matter of tricking the brain into thinking about something else." He shrugged nonchalantly and turned away.

"Sherlock," she warned,"don't try to be tough. If tricking the brain is your solution to pain, then why the surgery for the left? If I recall correctly, prior to its removal, you felt miserable constantly. Could barely walk a straight line at times or much less Work properly." An indescribable expression flickered for a moment in his features before returning to their usual stoic setting.

He didn't have a response to her flawless logic, so just sat there silently contemplating question she posed.

_ Maybe the mind isn't as powerful as it is. Maybe something's just can't be overcome with thinking alone. Regardless of why the surgery was performed, the eye needed to be removed. It was the most logical course of action. It had ceased taking in light about four years ago, but the past year it was giving me constant pain- particularly headaches. It made record keeping for my Mind Palace extremely difficult. Near impossible at times. So it was the only available course of action to take because it lacked use anymore. Perfectly logical._

"I know when you're fibbing. It hurts a lot. In fact, it hurts quite a deal right now. Yes?" He conceded to answering her honestly thus gave a short nod. She lightly brushed his eyelid closed again, then circled the eyeball with very gentle massage-like movements. "It's okay to accept the pain and say it out loud. No one with think less of you if you do so, Sherlock."

"It is not in my nature to voice expressions of any kind," he countered, "You know that Molly Hooper."

"That's true, but that doesn't mean you can't change. Now, let me hear this newest one." She retrieved Estella and placed it in those talented hands, then huddled on the sofa waiting for her private concert to start.

* * *

He spent an hour playing all his favourite compositions from Bach, Brahms, and Vivaldi before adding in his own pieces to the repertoire.

At the end of the last note he bowed gracefully accepting Molly's applause, "They're quite lovely Sherlock. You really do have a talent for music, unlike me. I just never could count the rhythm properly and play at the same time."

"You could, takes practise. Here. Let's start with something simple," Sherlock held Estella like a guitar and plucked four steady notes,"clap your hands in time with each note. Good. Now keep clapping and I will play a note every time you don't clap, which is called the offbeat." Molly tried the syncopated rhythm and stumbled a few times before she succeeded in keeping the beat.

"There. It isn't that hard now, is it?" Sherlock held out Estella to her, "I have another thing to show you. Take her here by the neck and place her on your left shoulder." Molly did so then took his hand placing it on the violin's bridge allowing him to feel her posture before making a few minor adjustments to it.

She was learning how to count rhythms and play the violin whilst Sherlock learnt how not to be so ridged in keeping his feelings buried down in logic.

* * *

**A-N: I wrote this one and the latest chapter of WOEO (A Agreeable Trade) at the same time, hence the huge similarity in setting. Thanks for putting up with that! See you soon again! **


	9. He's Different - Part I

**Part I- Sherlock is Anxious**

* * *

Sherlock was anxious. Really anxious. He was never worried about anything, but here he was. Anxious. Impatient. Worried. Stressed. Frustrated. Any thought of hiding his emotional state was a lost cause, it was clearly evident in his unusual behaviours.

There he and John were in the waiting room, waiting. (Obviously) but one was not waiting patiently at all. A stressful Sherlock snapping insulting comments to the staff did little to help the overall mood of the patient room. It was to the best arrangements for John to take Sherlock away until things had settled a bit more. So now they were here. In the waiting room. Waiting until 'someone' had settled his temper with the staff.

He sat down and crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. Stood up. Sat down. Stood up again. Paced the room. Then stood next to the chair. Next he squatted on the chair. Stood ON the chair and let gravity tip it over before he hopped off and started pacing the room. Again.

When he exhausted all means of abusing the poor chair, he settled with entertainment from his clothing. First his Belstaff coat. On. Off. On. Off. Buttoned then unbuttoned. Then a repeat with his suit jacket. At last he decided to leave both garments on, but not buttoned.

_Then his scarf. Oh that scarf... That dreaded scarf..._

He took it off and folded it nearly over his arm, then in the next minuet it was back around his neck tied in a different fashion. He adjusted the seams. Fiddled with the tag, detangled the fringe. He took it off in the following minuet, and crumpled it in the coat pocket. The next time John looked at his friend, the cloth was back around his neck. Again. Tied in a new style. He adjusted the seams. Again. Thrice actually.

John just about had it with his patience limit. He caught the mad man's hand from touching his scarf for probably the millionth time in the whole time the two were in the waiting room. John was about to strangle him with the "cloth rope," so dragged him to the previously abused chair by a tight grip on the wrist.

"Sit," he ordered sternly, "Don't speak. Don't move a muscle, and for the sake of sanity. Do not touch your scarf."

Sherlock subjected himself to Captain Watson, not John Watson. He merely gave a curt nod and folded his hands in his lap.

Gone was the Captain Watson persona, now Best Friend John Watson spoke, "Sherlock, do calm down. You'll give yourself a heart attack with the stress on you. It'll be fine. Ok? Just sit here quietly, calmly, and absolutely still. I will be right back with a drink."

John dashed off to the closest drink machine and came back to find his friend exactly as he had remained with his head titled back resting on the wall lost in his Mind Palace.

"Here," John placed a steaming cup of Earl Grey in his hand. "Drink this slowly, you will feel better. Once you're done we can go visit them. Ok?"

"Very well, as you say." Sherlock downed the hot liquid as fast as his throat could take it, so it was only a short bit later when the two left the waiting area for the room.

* * *

John rapped the door lightly before Mary answered it accompanied with a sympathetic smile. She took Sherlock's arm and led him to a chair seated close by the bed. John followed suit pulling out an additional chair for his wife.

"Sherlock, you look rubbish! What have you done to yourself? John, something for explaining you have?" Molly opened her eyes and was greeted with a sight of her husband in a very dishevelled stated due to his prior activity with the scarf, coat, and chair. His hair was ruffled into a mess coupled with the dress shirt having too many creases.

"I have done nothing to myself Molly. How are you feeling? Are the doctor's at least decent in their work? Mycroft assured me he only provided the best, if he didn't, then I will be having a serious conversation with him. One that may not go well with him."

She pulled his hand causing him to lean down over her bed, then ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth out the wild curls. "There, now you don't look as scary. Don't worry, I have faith Mycroft did well because everything here so far has been pleasant." The three others gave quizzical glance at the 'been pleasant', so she hastily added. "Well, you know what I mean." A sharp wince punctuated her sentence causing her to grimace in pain. "This isn't like before," she forced out trying to fight the pain, "I think it is..." Neither John nor Sherlock heard the end of the sentence before they rushed off to summon the doctor and midwife.

**TBC. Part II is in progress. It will be added as soon as it is finished. Thank you for reading!**


	10. He's Different- Part II

**Part 2 - Sherlock is Overwhelmed**

* * *

_She pulled his hand causing him to lean down over her bed, then ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth out the wild curls. "There, now you don't look as scary. Don't worry, I have faith Mycroft did well because everything here so far has been pleasant." The three others gave quizzical glance at the 'been pleasant', so she hastily added. "Well, you know what I mean." A sharp wince punctuated her sentence causing her to grimace in pain. "This isn't like before," she forced out trying to fight the pain, "I think it is..." Neither John nor Sherlock heard the end of the sentence before they rushed off to summon the doctor and midwife._

* * *

With the medical staff on the heels of the two men, the four burst unceremoniously into the patient room. "Molly!" Sherlock called out not caring for all the emotions his voice betrayed. He released his grip on John's arm and headed for her bedside, but was interrupted with Mary pushing him toward a chair instead. "Sit, Sherlock. You can stay here next to Molly, but let them do their job."

"But Mary, I...Molly?" Sherlock said in defeat whilst reaching out for his wife.

"I'm fine Sherlock. I mean I will be. Don't worry. This is the best thing that will happen to us." She arrested his groping hand and kissed it.

It had been quite a long time now since it first started, but the sight of her husband reaching aimlessly for her always sent a sharp prick to her heart. Many who have met him didn't even know he was that until he pointed it out whilst insulting their intelligence. It wouldn't be "Sherlock" if he left off an insult. He certainly didn't 'look it' and his refined movement didn't give it away that easily, but she never forgot. It was impossible to do so, she felt it would be unloving to do so.

As if she could actually forget...impossible...

Molly had made her mind clearly expressed many months ago when she wanted only three people to be with her during the delivery time. She held onto Sherlock's hand through out the whole ordeal. Actually it was more of strangling his hand and nearing breaking his metacarpals, but thankfully he knew better that to say anything at that time. He was terrified out of wits end, and it there was no hiding that fear no matter how hard he tried. John was (for just a moment) very guiltily enjoying his best mate's discomfort from his place next to Mary, yet finally did concede to his compassionate doctoring side and tried to settle the poor father's nerves.

It wasn't often that Sherlock displayed a human side with emotional sentiment. In a way, his closest friends were his guidelines for knowing how to act properly in any situation. Right now, he needed guidance on something that he thought he never would have needed.

A family.

* * *

The birth went smoothly and without any complications to the child or mother. He didn't cry. Just stared at the doctor whisking him away to be cleaned and clothed.

The new mum kissed her husband's hand, which was pink from being squeezed so hard. "A son Sherlock. Your son."

He, in turn, kissed her forehead,"No, our son and I'm sure he will behave just like you."

During the time the baby was briefly away, the Watsons congratulated the new parents. A beautiful boy who clearly had the resemblance of his parents. There was no doubt. The hair, features, and eye colour certainly took then blend of his parents.

Sherlock was too worked up to follow along with the moments of congratulations. A thousand questions and 'what ifs' flooded his mind. They came crashing in unexpectedly, therefore, effectively breaking down the walls of his Mind Palace. It was an absolute havoc and Sherlock was trapped beneath all of its rubble.

_:No! No! Stop!_

_:System overload._

_'How do I do this? What if this happens? I have a child to care for, what now?' So many voices at once. Who is speaking? I can't understand a single thing. Too loud. Too much movement I feel around me._

_:Must repair system immediately._

_:Restoration in progress._

_:Restoration failed._

_:Searching for troubleshoot data._

He was cradling his head and rocking back and forth trying to drown out the noise both in the room and in his mind.

"Sherlock!" his wife and friends shouted loudly. They had never seen him behave like this degree before. Small scale overloads were a chance occurrence, but this was getting too much for him.

He didn't hear them.

_...no stop the noise...please. It is too much!_

_Wait! Heat. Where is the source? Searching..._

A single touch from John brought the shaking man to sit rigidly. He placed his hand over the heat source. John's hand was on his shoulder.

_Why? What was going on? Was everything all right? Why is everything so disorganised?_

Sherlock was finally coming off his 'high' of feeling the emotion overload and John was eyeing him critically making sure the new father didn't pass out from his sensory system overloading in the process.

He grabbed Sherlock square in the shoulders, ordered sharply but softly, "Sherlock. Stop breathing. Good. Now slowly let out a breath."

Sherlock did as told repeatedly until he could feel his body returning to a more normal state. His breaths became more steady and calmer, everyone was pleased.

A small crisis was handled skilfully and now everyone was waiting for the newborn child to return.

* * *

**A-N: Please note in "Watching Over Each Other", which has also been updated.**

**I hope you've enjoyed these little clips into the Baker Street bunch. **

**As always, comments and suggestions are more than appreciated.**


	11. But it IS a Fairytale

A-N: This story contains a collection of one-shot to three-part chapters on various occasion. Some are not Sherlock/Molly, but some are.

* * *

**But it IS a Fairytale!**

SETTING : First-born Holmes son at five years old.

* * *

The child, dressed in his sleepwear, bounced up and down on his bed eagerly waiting for his Papa to come. Every single night, without fail, Papa would come to his room talk with him.

Sometimes Papa told him about cases he finished.

Sometimes Papa told him about his extended family, The Watsons, and all the adventures the four of them had long before he married Mummy. (He called his courtship with her as "a very interesting and determined lady that I should like to know better outside of St. Barts morgue.")

Only on the rarest of occasions, when he was in the best of spirits would the child hear stories about his Papa's childhood.

Tonight felt like one of those 'rarest occasion' nights because a huge and complicated case that had dragged on for weeks finally closed this afternoon putting Papa and Mummy in the best of moods. They celebrated with Angelo's signature chef's special dish, and brought home the rest in a take away box for their son and Mrs. Hudson to enjoy.

"Papa," Edward took his father's hands and place them over his own, "Will you tell me a story? Please!"

"Very well, what would you like?" Papa smiled at his son, he enjoyed the time he had with him. His Work could always wait. At one point in time Work was the only thing Papa cared about, but now it was second rate to his family. "Tell me again about how you met Mummy," came the reply.

"Edward. That's not a story, stories are fantasy, like fairy-tales. It is The Good versus The Evil and 'they lived happily ever after' endings. How I met your mother is reality, besides you already know the story. What if I told you one of Edgar Poe's mystery stories instead, you enjoy them, don't you?"** Edward's hands went limp in his father's for a moment as he thought.

"You're wrong Papa," his son began to sign, "It is a story! You met Mummy a very long time ago, long before Uncle John came to solve cases with you. You said many things happened before I was born, some bad things and some good things. There was someone really bad, but now he's gone. So the evil is gone and the good has won. Now you have Mummy and me, the good part, right? Aren't we living in the 'happily ever after' part?" Edward buried his smiling face in Papa's gentle hand whilst the elder one absent-mindedly ran his fingers de-tangling a mass of unruly dark curls. _You look so much like me, it is unbelievable._

You are my son, in every way possible, only you would think in such an unorthodox way. Never one to go with the usual, do you? Fairy-tales!?

_Does Moriarty relentlessly taunt me, even from the grave, at every chance he gets? "Every fairytale needs a good old fashion villain..."_

"I suppose you're right Edward, but I want you to never forget that this world is not a fairytale. This is the real world, and many many bad things happen. If you ever start to forget then just think about what Mummy and I do for work. There is no such thing as true 'happily ever after'", Sherlock replied with hopes of instilling those words of wisdom into the young mind.

It is wrong to deceive a child, tell what must be said, but never ever lie. It will have disastrous consequences.

"Oh, I understand Papa," he snuggled close to his father basking in the protection of those strong arms, "Still, please tell me again how you and Mummy met. I like it a lot."

Allowing himself to be drawn into his son's innocent thinking, placed his hand in his son's tiny palms and began with the famous words, "Once upon a time there lived..."

* * *

About the time Sherlock reached the point when Edward would be born, his child was fast asleep against his chest. Kissing Edward's head softly, Papa laid him on the pillow and straighten his duvet.

He heard a soft breath come from the threshold of the room and whispered, "Molly? How long have you been standing there?"

"Yes, it is me. For no more than a minuet Sherlock, my handsome knight in shinning armour," she pecked his cheek before leading him to the sitting room already prepared with a fresh pot of Earl Grey.

"Not you also into this of fairytale rubbish," he commented with gentle sarcasm as soon his wife nestled herself in his arms, "it really isn't good for Edward to think about it. Doesn't help him at all, it will only disappoint him when he is older."

"He should think about it Sherlock, then he will understand the differences between reality and fantasy. Teach them whilst young. Besides he is right on one account, our story is a fairytale. Everything that happened when and before we were courting was the Evil, but now I have you, Edward, and our wonderful friends. Who would have thought any of this to be like this for us?" She placed a hot cup in his hand then took a sip from her own. His brow knit in deep thought considering what his family told him about fairytale.

_Perhaps they are right after all in this instance...It is true the evil Moriarty is reduced to merely a pile of bones under a mound of dirt...didn't even get a rock...didn't deserve a fancy rock anyway...but surely all this rubbish about damsels in distress and knights in shinning armour certainly doesn't fit either Molly or me. She dated a consulting criminal, certainly does not qualify as a 'damsel in distress' by my account._

"No, I would have never imagined myself in this position. Never. A husband and a father?! That certainly wasn't on my agenda at all, but now I don't know what position I'd rather be in than this," he handed the cup back to her, so he would have a free arm to wrap around his wife.

"I'm glad you think this way Sherlock, almost every little girl as dreamed her wedding and married life, but for the dream to become this?" she caressed his visage tenderly, "It is much, much better than what I thought as a child. Especially with Edward."

"I concur. Speaking of which, I think it is appropriate time for Edward to come to work with us now. Mrs. Hudson looks after him quite a lot. He is of a suitable age, ordinary things that would frighten a child don't frighten him. You work tomorrow, why don't we take him in? I can show him my latest experiment and you can show him what you do." Sherlock turned to his wife with a look of hopefulness.

She poked his cheek playfully, "Stop looking at me like that! You're scaring me." "Like what?" He countered in feigned ignorance then made his eyes smaller and smile wider, "Like this?"

"Yes! You know exactly what I mean. If he wants to, he can come tomorrow, " she poked his cheeks forcing the smile to be less 'creepy-looking'. "The director doesn't mind a child...well...because after meeting you he said, and I quote: 'If I can handle your husband's strange ways, then I can handle anyone else that come to the lab.'"

"Perfect! Where's Estella, could you bring me her, please?" ^^ Molly got up and retrieved the delicate violin from its stand by the window and placed her in those nimble musician fingers. "Thank you, now I think you should go to bed. It is late and I predict there will be a lot of reports to work on."

Molly kissed him goodnight then fell asleep to the sounds of Estella sing the melody Sherlock composed the day Edward was born.

_Yes, it IS a fairytale. The life I now live truly called "happily ever after"._

* * *

**A-N: Reading chapter 10 'Surprises in Signs' in "Watching Over Each Other" might help you understand how the father and son converse. Tactile signing is used between those who are blind but know sign language.**

**I hope you enjoyed the addition of little Edward, he'll be a reoccurring character. **

**Poll is available if interested on my bio page.**

**^^ More information about Estella is found in the three-part A HEART ONE WOULD NEVER EXPECT.**

****Edgar Poe is the founder of mystery novels featuring detectives and solving crimes, and who is credited with the start of the Science Fiction genre. Many believe Doyle as the start of such novel, but in fact he himself made mention of Poe.**

**Tip of the hat to this wonderful Gothic author for all his works and paving the way for others.**

* * *

_«Poe's early detective fiction tales featuring C. Auguste Dupin laid the groundwork for future detectives in literature. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said, "Each [of Poe's detective stories] is a root from which a whole literature has developed...Where was the detective story until Poe breathed the breath of life into it?" ~ Courtesy of: The Poe Encyclopaedia: Frank, Frederick S.; Magistrale, Anthony (1997)»_


	12. Don't be so Silly!

**Of course you are! Don't be Silly**

* * *

Dropping his school bag loudly on the wooded table in the sitting room was Edward's way of announcing his presence to Papa, but Mum wish he wouldn't do such a thing because every time he did so, there would be another scratch added to the growing collection made by his father and his questionable experiments.  
As the old adage says,"like father like son," some things don't change.

Today, Papa was busy listening to an audio recording of Robertson's report on the latest case. It had something concerning two armed robber who couldn't find money in the house they broke into, so decided to become murderers instead. It was a mess of thing.

Edward liked it when Papa took him along to the laboratory for the purpose of teaching, not helping, that was Uncle William's job. The two had a system worked perfectly for visiting Mummy filled in occasionally when Uncle William was unable to leave his flat, but it didn't run as smoothly. It was an unspoken and indescribable way of how Uncle John knew exactly what and how much Papa wanted to see, then would describe it with the upmost precision.

Papa heard his son come in and was listening for the usual routine of sounds. First, the school bag landing with a thud on the table, then multitasking between the biscuit jar opened and getting a cup of juice, finally with snack in hand Edward would come sit on the sofa. Yet none of that happened today, instead his son just flung himself on the sofa and face planted in the pillow with a muffled groan. This intrigued Papa, he stopped the recording and sat straight. Something wasn't right.

Reaching out until his hand brushed Edward's shoulder, then signed in British Sign Language, "Don't you want your biscuit and juice?" He shook his head sadly and cupped his hands within Papa's and signed,"I don't feel like it".

He nodded with understanding, but didn't release hands with his son, "But you always take a biscuit when you come home from school. Something unpleasant happened in school today judging by your lack of appetite and overall unhappy state. Tell me about today at school Edward."

"Papa, are we normal?" Edward signed into father's hands. For a boy of almost ten, this wasn't the typical question every parent would hear their child ask. Papa contemplated the question for a moment before signing back for clarification, "We? Are we normal?" His son signed with much eagerness, "Yes! Us two. Are we?".

So he then continued on, "It's an interesting question. It depends on how you look at it, Edward. There are various possible answers to this question you ask."

"But that's precisely my point!" Edward immediately responded with emphatic signing,"you can't see! I can't hear! Are we not normal then, Papa?"

He nodded his head slowly, now he knew the kind of answer his son was seeking.

"Where did you get this idea of 'normal' come from?" Papa leant forward and faced his son squarely- only missing his eyes by a few inches off to the right, it certainly was becoming more interesting, not at all what he had expected.

-0-

"From some classmates. They saw us together at the park with Mum the other day when we were helping you and Uncle John with work. I saw their faces and pointing today. They didn't look nice at all, and even left me a note in my notebook. I found it at the end of the day." He fished out of the pocket a crumpled piece of paper scrawled with some unkind words and sighed. Trying to fight against the urge to cry again, he continued on, "It made me angry, but I couldn't do anything about it. All the boys went home already, I wanted to punch them over and over to make them take back what they wrote, make them say they're sorry and mean it. It's not fair!" Edward finished dejectedly and placed the paper in his father's palm.

Papa's blood started to boil slightly, and he fingered the note gently. He and mum would have an interesting topic for their nightly discussions tonight no one should behave in that manner to anyone. Regardless of circumstances, it was far from being acceptable behaviour.

"I'm glad they left because if you had started a fight then it would have created a very big problem for you and the school. Now, back to your original question, I will answer it with this cliché phrase: 'what exactly is normal?' Everyone's definition of normal is different, even the dictionaries cannot define it exactly the same."

The young child pondered his papa's question, "'normal' really doesn't mean anything, does it? Papa could see a long time ago, but that was when he first moved to Baker Street and was considered 'normal'. Being 'normal' didn't give him any super powers, but being different didn't give it to him either. What does it matter if I am deaf and my papa is blind? We still look like everyone else, and even if we didn't, it doesn't matter."

At last his son replied,"It doesn't matter if we're different, a person is a person no matter how small+"

"Yes, that is correct. Don't worry about those who wrote the note, they're not worthy of your thoughts if they will only make you angry."

"You're right Papa!" We are normal." Edward beamed with happiness, the hurt and anger his classmates gave him was receding quickly.

"Don't be silly, of course you are and always will be. Now come, I have a new experiment at the morgue. Let's go check its progress and meet your mother. We have an outing with the Watsons me my coat please."

* * *

****Truman Capote's novel "In Cold Blood". It is a true story. The author spoke with family, friends, and police/court as he wrote the account. It is an interesting novel with a good thought at the end. I just suggest you read it or at least the synopsis.**

**+Quote taken from Dr. Seuss.**


	13. Jet Black Orbs Part I

**Jet Black Orbs Part I**

* * *

"Oh my goodness Sherlock! What happened to your eyes?" Molly gasped at the ghastly sight of Sherlock walking into her lab at the morgue with his dishevelled appearance. His hair was a wild tangle of curls, but otherwise, he overall appearance wasn't alarming (well almost).

"Really! Come now Molly," Sherlock rolled his eyes and scoffed,"You now perfectly well what has happened to my eyes. In fact, I recall you being there from the start. In fact, I believe it was you I told first when I received my prognosis about my eyes, noting how they would cease to function as intended as time passes." He slide his hand along the wall until he came upon her working table.

"Sherlock! Stop being sassy," Molly turned off the microscope and rounded the table to stand in front of Sherlock, "Tell me though. What did you do to your eyes? Is this one of your self-experimentation? You know I forbid you from doing so." She felt anger building up, he had promised her over and over, so, should he have broken the promise, things would not fair well for him.

"Quite right you are. No Molly, I am a gentleman of my word. I would never do such a thing in fear of receiving another strike across the face, especially since now it has a ring on it. A very handsome ring if I might add." He cleared his throat and reached for her hands, pulling her small form close to him while gently fingering her beautiful diamond ring.

It was his own engraved wedding band's constant presence on his finger which made him very self-conscious of his behaviours and words. Like Mrs. Hudson had told him once on the day John wed, "marriage changes people Sherlock..."

_Yes it really does. Having a wonderful person to share life with made a huge difference in how he lived and behaved._

"Observe closely Molly, what do you see?" He dipped his head toward her eye level.

Sherlock!" Molly heaved an exasperated sigh and cupped her hands around his face, peering intently at those two (currently) solid black orb that caught her heart years ago, "Why in the world would you wear contact lens that are opaque? You look like a man who has two giant black holes where his eyes should be. I hate even the thought of it, but you look like the personified form of Death, with his black hood and scythe. It's a very unsettling appearance. Please take them off. I don't like looking at them, I'd rather see your natural eye colour. They're much nicer." She gently closed his eyelids and massaged the each eye in slow circles. "Please Sherlock."

* * *

_Since knowing the man for nearly a one and a half decade now, and about half of said time he started experiencing aggressive progressive vision loss.** Thus now wed three years to date, she was already well beyond expert at knowing when his pains would flare, and it had begun to set in. It was ever so slight, just a little facial muscle tremour here and there, then a little scrunch of his brow. It was hardly noticeable to anyone, but she wasn't just anyone._

_They came at such strange and random times, often causing debilitating and excruciating pain from internal pressure on the lines connecting eyeball to the rest of the cranial organs. It wasn't just a headache, it was an intense aching sensation from they eye to the brain. Deep internal pain was harder to remedy than superficial ones, like a slight strain on the temporal lobes could be solved with some peppermint oil._

_Her dear husband had lost consciousness quite a few times when flares would strike up, it was due to the close contact with all parts of the brain working together to compute and manage the pain sensory nerves. Overloading and overworking the cranial region caused the extreme headaches, or as Sherlock called them, "rebooting the system after it crashed."_

_Surgery was an option, but as with any surgery, there were some risks. Still, removal of the affected organs seemed the most plausible and beneficial action in the long-run. Yet the surgical risks included the pain not going away despite removal of the organ and/or having the pain source move further into the head which would present an even more complex issue to solve._

_Additionally, the empty socket was an open invitation for all sorts of bacterium and pathogens to entre the body system. So for now, Molly had let the talk of surgery lay quiet, because he wasn't keen on loosing any organs, but she had every intention of bring it up at the right time again. It was their best option and perhaps hopefully the answer to the problem._

* * *

"I can't, it's for a case." He answered cryptically.

"Here. Come with me," she led him to her office and guided him to the big comfy rolling chair then sat crosswise in his lap,"Tell me now. Please Sherlock. I demand a good explanation for why my husband is coming to me in this unsettling state."

"Very well," he sighed in mock defeat,"You win on one condition."

"...and that is what exactly," waving her wrist in the gesture when one wanted someone else to keep speaking, "I'm not the one who pieces things together? That's your job, I perform post-mortems examinations. You can't just stop talking on a sentence like that Sherlock."

"I'll tell you after, first the case and the reason for this ruse," pointing at the obvious, "This is for the case concerning the stolen articles from the big business corporation John and I are currently working on. We have narrowed it down to three criminals who have (for us) the fortunate habit of hiding poorly in plain sight. Their attempts to blend in with a crowd have failed miserably, but unfortunately (for us) their agility makes up for their lack of intelligent thought process, thus why we have yet to actually catch them though we know the persons directly."

Molly nodded with understanding trying to connect the information she already knew from him being on the case so long already, and figuring out how that necessitated her husband the need to change his eye colour.

"So, explain to me this part then," she questioned and resumed softly caressing the area keeping the pain at bay. So far it was working, he visibly softened at her touch.

After remaining silent for some moments, he resumed where he left off, "Tonight we have much reason to believe he will make an appearance at the formal gown masquerade the neighbouring company is hosting. The three of us will pose as guests and you and Mary as our "guest and friend". Lestrade and John have both chosen very dull masques, they describe it as "typical, conservative, yet fulfils the purpose. Here, have a look," he pulled out his mobile and used the automated voice-over to locate the picture.

"I think they are some dapper gentlemen with their top hats and tuxedos. A masque doesn't have to be extravagant Sherlock, theirs is just fine. A small black velvet fabric covering around the face from nose and up is perfectly fine, and suits them well. Now, let me see yours."

"Ah. Ah. No. Not just yet," he locked the screen and pocked the mobile before she could scroll through the rest of pictures, "You'll find out tonight. After all, you promised to accompany me on this part of the case that I've been hinting toward you for the past days. These black eyes are part of the costume and that's all you'll see until you and Mary come in the limousine reserved for the event. It was Mycroft's idea, but I thought you wouldn't object to such an offer, so I accepted it on the premise you would like it. The three of us will arrive ahead of you to scope out the place and plan on how to arrest the three."

"Fine," Molly gave him a quick hug then pulled him to his feet and felt the hands on his wristwatch, "best get going home then or else you won't have time to make there early. Can't wait to be surprise."

"Likewise, Mary refused to tell me what you two went shopping for. I'll see you there in three hours. Don't be late."

Giving his wife one last hug, he exited the room and headed to meet up with the men.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for commenting and for all the new follow/favourites. I really appreciate the gestures.  
It's taking me a bit longer to write up the next chapter for "Watching Over..." since my muse keeps getting distracted. ;)**

********Information about Sherlock's vision loss can be read in "In Whose Eyes?" and it's sequel "Watching Over Each Other", of which the latter is currently in progress. The aforementioned stories each stand alone, it's merely a timeline of the events.**

**Those who have participated in the poll, please note that I will include all suggestions listed in different future stories. Thanks for submitting your ideas.**


	14. Jet Black Orbs Part II

**Jet Black Orbs Part II**

* * *

_"Likewise, Mary refused to tell me what you two went shopping for. I'll see you there in three hours. Don't be late."_

_Giving his wife one last hug, he exited the room and headed to meet up with the men._

* * *

Quickly Molly finished her day's work at the pathology lab then sought out her ally for getting themselves ready for tonight's event.

"Mary! I'm heading home now. Want to come over to my place?" Molly asked juggling between her paperwork, personal bags, and the mobile whilst walking out the hospital doors, "Sherlock just dropped by to see me off like he does everyday when I finish work, but today I sent him to meet with John. You know, for tonight's big case thing."

"Wonderful timing dear. The men just stormed up the stairs causing quite a racket. I'm a bit worried for how the house will look if I leave," she joked whilst gathering up her elegant evening gown, brand new high heels, and the cosmetic pouch, "I'm nearly about to leave. Meet you at the flat."

The two rung off and each scurried around frantically trying to get to the flat as quickly as public transportation would take them.

Some how, perhaps by chance, the two arrived to Molly's flat at the same time. After setting down and finally organising all the materials needed for the evening, the two ladies set about dressing up to the level fit for a masquerade.

A considerable amount of time was spent on making sure every single strand of hair was in its proper places and doused with about half a litre of hairspray to ensure it's co-operation for the entire night. After make-up and hairstyles were finally adjusted to suit each one's liking, the two ladies eagerly donned the lavishly embellished ball gowns.

"You know, Sherlock must have hounded me about twenty different ways wanting to know what we kind of dresses we went shop for that afternoon" Mary mused as she laced up the back of Molly's floor-length dress, "For once he couldn't deduce it and I'm very glad of it! Hate to spoil such a fine night with his unwanted deductions. Let him be surprised every now and then. Especially with the looks of you tonight will be extra special for him."

"Oh, stop it." Molly blushed a deep red and rubbed her cheeks in attempts to cover it, "He is very persistent, isn't he? Tried to wheedle the information out of me this afternoon too, but I wouldn't have it. Well, in all fairness, he wouldn't show me what he would wear except for those horrid black contacts. He claimed they were for this case, but I never know what exactly to think with the man. He's a strange one, but my crazy husband."

Molly twirled her finger motioning for Mary to turn around, "It's your turn to let me fasten your dress. Just think of John's face when you step out of the limousine tonight, I am sure it will be a moment to capture. I don't think I've ever worn a dress to this extravagance before. Both of us in lace-up corset gowns with complimentary high-heels and jewels to accompany it. My entire wedding attire wasn't even half this complicated."

"Enjoy it, because I'm enjoying my part of it. I don't think we'll ever have another chance like this again." She pondered for a moment, " No, it wasn't complicated, but it was beautiful cream-white one. Sweetheart neckline with three-quarter laced-trimmed sleeves suited you well," Mary pointed out as she replaced the Holmes' wedding photo album on Molly's vanity.

"I sure won't forget Sherlock's expression when John described to him how stunning you looked coming down the aisle. I know you're the photographer captured that moment for keep-sakes as well as all the guests." Mary fingered the frame of the photo she described.

"Yes, he does have a nice smile," Molly smiled back at the photo recalling the happiest day of her life, "Well, when he actually decides to smile instead of scowl at everything."

Come," she motioned to the doorway, "let's stay in the sitting room. We have about twenty minutes until our chauffeur arrives. How do you think the men are faring?"

"Hard to tell, but I would assume not nearly as efficient as they would claim to be considering your husband despises bow ties and neckties with equal passion. So, I would think they haven't even pulled the clothes of the hangers yet."

* * *

**A-N: Thanks for reading, commenting, favourite-follow! **

**Part III to come as soon as possible, same with WOEO Chapter 29.**

**Also, I've seen the word "prick" written in several different stories here on this site. I really hope it isn't a terribly offensive word-at least that is what the dictionary I looked in said. I'm really sorry if it is, I don't mean to use it. As I'm not a Briton, could someone leave a comment or message me and answer few questions I have about certain words and phrases. Thanks!**


	15. Jet Black Orbs Part III

**Jet Black Orbs Part III**

* * *

Meanwhile several streets away a less-than-calm situation was taking place...well, firstly because grown boys were involved and that rarely goes as planned...and the second was...

"What do you mean you don't know where it is!? How could you not know! I left them here for a reason, so Molly won't know what I'm going to wear. I never thought you'd actually lose my shoes!" Sherlock screeched at his companions. The other two were frantically rummaging around John's bedroom trying to find the pacing tiger's pair of dress shoes.

_His dress shoes. Of all things he's obsessed over, shoes... Those solid black, custom-made Oxfords polished so much the sun's beams bounced off them_.

"Now, Sherlock, just have a seat," Lestrade took the barefoot fuming consulting detective to a chair, then started turning over everything in the room, "We'll get this sorted out in a jiffy. Must be a little misunderstanding and got misplaced. Any success there John?" He called out to the man with his head buried deep in the closet haphazardly throwing random articles of clothing over his shoulder.

"No."

By accident one flew straight into Sherlock's face, "John," he warned in a menacing voice, "What is the meaning of assaulting me with your," he paused and fingered the fabric, "with your jumper. In particular, the jumper I experimented on multiple times to test the corrosiveness of different chemical strengths on fibres."

"Ah yes, here is one of the holes," he smelt the fabric, "still reeks of the acids, I'm surprised you kept it. You know it's neither typical nor socially acceptable for a man of your age to wear ragged, torn, unkempt clothes."

John couldn't help but hurl another one of his poor experimented on jumpers at the annoying one's head.

"Don't roll your eyes at me John, I know your habits far too well to know that is exactly what you've just done and are doing now," he mocked John's facial expressions with much exaggeration, "Must we have another discussion on social etiquette? First, it was tardiness, and now it's about dress and grooming. What is the world coming to!?" Sherlock exclaimed with disdain, "Your lack of proper interactions with others is appalling. Really! Another one?"

He held up another jumper in equally poor condition as the first one, then flung one at John and one in Lestrade's direction.

"Well now you've done it Sherlock," Lestrade commented with a wicked grin and wadded the jumper ready to throw when John's strong arm pelted with another article of clothing. Now armed with a dress shirt and jumper, Lestrade chucked one at each of them before hastily retreating behind the desk.

With three grown boys and an arsenal of throwable objects, the room then became dangerous war zone. In only a matter of minuets, John's usually neat and military-like ordered bedroom turned into the after effects of a tornado's path.

-0-

"Surrender! I surrender!" John called out whilst trying to fight off the other two grown boys who were a tangle of limbs on top of him. "Let me go! Please guys!" He struggled again, but that was a mistake. Lestrade didn't expect John's arm to wrench free from his death-grip, so the force of the release threw the elder man off balance and his bony shoulder punched into Sherlock's side.

"That hurts!" he cried indignantly, "Might I take this moment to state, I am very glad we are at this place instead of my flat," Sherlock shifted so Lestrade rolled off his side with a muffled thud, "I shudder to think of Mrs. Hudson or our wives to walk in on us in this very unflattering moment."

"Really Sherlock! You're one to talk! Only NOW that thought crossed your mind! Bit late if you ask me," the silver-haired one shot back and sat on his heels snickering at the still tangle-limbed duo whilst massaging his tender shoulder.

"You...You're insufferable! Come on, we should get ready for the case tonight." He hauled his friend to feet, which were still bare at this point. "Well look here! You'll never guess what I found under this mess that you've made."

"I MADE?! It was YOU who threw it at me and started it," he shot back defensively, "You finally found my shoes that I gave to you specifically to watch over for safekeeping. I'm right, aren't I. " he finished with a deadpanned expression.

"Why yes of course you brilliant oaf! Now here, get dressed. Don't want to be late tonight!" John unceremoniously shoved the clothes and shoes in his friend's arms, then directed him to the bathroom. "Hurry up!"

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for your patience! Knowing that you still read despite long breaks in between chapters makes me very happy.**

**Researching the different types of formal wear for writing this section was quite enjoyable! I'm editing the next chapter to fit the proper decorum for a Masquerade/ evening ball.**


	16. Jet Black Orbs Part IV

**Jet Black Orbs Part IV**

* * *

Minuets later three dapper men sauntered into the sitting room, two were dressed to the letter in the finest jet black wing-collared fabric, secured in the middle with a white satin custom tailored V-cut pointed waistcoat, and tied off with a crisp silk white bow tie at the neck.

As for the third companion, he too was decked out in the best formal attire available, but it was a ghastly shade of bright red instead of the customary solid black.

"What?! Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed as he and John turned around to face their third companion, "What happened?You look terrible! And that red is an alarming shade, too bright and looks too wild. Why couldn't you have just worn what John and I are wearing now? Black Nice solid black tails with white on the inside? Did you forget this is a White-Tie event we're attending?"

"Yea mate, hate to break it to you," John threw in his two cents shaking his head incredulously, "but that red suit is really quite something. Never thought you'd wear something that crazy. Makes my eyes hurt just looking at it, not to mention what YOU have done with you're eyes! I'd ask, but I don't think I want to know the answer to that."

John handed his masque to Sherlock, "You do realise this is a Masquerade!? We are under the guise as guests, not attending a circus as the performers, you remember? We are trying to blend in, not stick out as walking targets! You of all people! You're rather obvious even in your everyday clothes and now wearing red certainly doesn't help at all. Nothing screams "walking target" better than bright red plastered on every single part of your body."

An exasperated John sunk into his chair heaving a frustrated sigh.

"Sherlock," Lestrade whispered, "best to put the bow tie on before John goes off on you again."

"I heard that, Greg," he didn't bother to look up, merely pointed a finger sternly at Sherlock's neck and ordered, "Find it and tie it. I don't want a repeat of last time,****** and don't give me any grief about it."

"But John," the dapper red-coated gentleman countered in a sarcastically juvenile whine with false airs of annoyance, "But I can't see so I won't be able to tell if my bow tie will be straight so why must I bother with these trivial things. Bow ties are just decorative strangulation devices. I prefer to attend this function without feeling like I will pass out from suffocation at any given moment."

Sherlock crossed his arms in huff," Besides, what if I DO want to look like a walking target?! Hmm?! That is my personal choice. As for my eye, it's merely colour-contacts. How do you find them? I hope I look frightening. It's for the case."

The two men burst out in a wild boorish laugh with John finding his ability to speak first. "Sherlock. You alone are frightening, you didn't need to dress up for that. With your creepy black eyes and bright red dinner jacket it certainly looks more like a horror film than a masquerade.

The two proper gentlemen shook their heads as they sighed exasperatedly.

_Why can't that man act like a man at times?_

"Yea. Yea. Sherlock, quit your fussing and just tie it," so the man-child compiled with Lestrade's request, digging out the midnight-black satin fabric and deftly knotting it into its "butterfly" form.

Lestrade helped straightened the wings on Sherlock's bow tie, then gathered up his own crisp white dinner gloves, "We have to leave now, or else if we're late the entire thing will be done for nothing."

He took the leading in heading out of the flat, followed by a pouting childish man and his adult best friend. They looked like pieces that fell off a checker board game: Black. Red. Black.

* * *

Upon arriving to the elegant place with much time to spare, the gentleman dawdles in the antechamber until their ladies arrives. The limousine had just as it pulled up to the decorative double-door entrance as so as the the chauffeur opened the passenger door.

"Sherlock," John nudged him in the side softly and whispered so Lestrade couldn't hear, "you know the term 'drop dead gorgeous'," Sherlock nodded slowly knowing where the comment was headed, "Yea. well, that phrase doesn't even measure up to my Mary. She's absolutely stunning with this teal short-sleeves gown with glittering fitted fabric on the top and the lower skirt part looks kind of like a metallic teal/purple mix when she walk and the light hit it a certain way. There's even the glittering stuff in her pinned up hair with those flower pins Mycroft gave as our wedding gift."

The love-struck husband offered his hand for his wife to take once the chauffeur escorted her to him. "Hello my Mary, you look absolutely stunning tonight," he commented and finished with a kiss to her cheek.

"Thanks love. Wait till you see Molly's dress. Hers is one-of-a-kind beauty."

"Tell me Mary please, you're the only one who knows. What is my wife wearing?" Sherlock asked as he impatiently fidgeted with his cuff links waiting for his other half to emerge from the mobile.

The elegantly dressed lady in a soft pink flowing gown took her husband's forearm and led them to the gathering crowd into the main foyer.

"Now will you tell me?" Sherlock whispered into his wife's ear as she took his arm skilfully guiding them through the massive hallway without either of them bumping into the other guest, "I've waited long enough, I deserve to know what you and Mary went shopping for that one afternoon, don't I ? John tells me you're very pretty and Mary called you magnificent. I must know. What do you look like tonight?"

"I suppose you've been good," she teased, "I would tell you everything, but I think you'll have more fun deducing my appearance tonight. My entire gown is a soft pink, and the skirt is many layer that puff out from my waist."

She smoothed away his wavy hair that came loose from the hairspray and fell over his masque, "You cleaned up nicely. I always knew you were dashingly handsome, but having tails and bow-tie makes it so much better. Red is a good colour, but why red? You don't particularly favour that colour so why red, instead of the customary black?," she glanced around at the attire of the others,"everyone else is wearing either a black, dark blue, or bright white dinner jacket set."

"Oh, no reason in particular, but tell me now. I must know, the design. I imagine looks nice, but dresses aren't for men to decide." He cupped his arm around her petite waists as they meandered through the small tables offering hors d'œuvre and apéritifs. (Starters/appetisers and dry alcoholic drinks)

"Would you care for some cheese cuts or a small sweet, dear?" Molly politely filled her plate with a few things so not to seem unappreciative of the host and gathering. He shook his head and gently pushed her plate away.

"Tell me the room Molly. I must catch him tonight." He unfolded his red-tipped white cane awaiting his wife's lead for mapping out their "battleground".

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**A-N: Many thanks for your continuous interest in these various clips of Sherlock &amp; Co. and taking the time to write lovely comments. Thank you for your enduring patience as I slowly update this story and "Watching Over Each Other". Please enjoy.**

**** "Last time" refers to Sherlock refusing to tie his bow tie of the best man's suit. See chapter 1 and 2 of "Watching Over Each Other" for the reference.**


	17. Jet Black Orbs Part V

**Jet Black Orbs Part V**

* * *

He cupped his arm around her petite waists as they meandered through the small tables offering hors d'œuvre and apéritifs.

"Tell me the room Molly. I must catch him tonight." He unfolded his red-tipped white cane awaiting his wife's lead for mapping out their "battleground".

The pink and bright red duo skillfully meandered through the entire place as his wife fed a running stream of vivid descriptions on the guests, surroundings, and structures into his ear.

A little whisper of "there a small bush which makes for a great hideout," or "this corner is a great location for picking up voices clearly without looking like eavesdropping" made Sherlock snicker at his Molly's crafty mind conjuring up a way to take in their target.

They finished the walk in the antechamber adjacent to the dining hall just before the meal was announced, so Molly and Sherlock quickly took their place at the dinner table with rest of their party without attracting attention.

The dinner discussions were animated and quite interesting to say the least. The topic started out with the typical pleasantries and weather, soon it futhered into likes and dislikes of tea, biscuits, and music genres. But of course, with Sherlock around, events rarely unfolded in the proper manner.

He soon became so engrossed in a detailed recantation of his previous case with an elephant in the room, a dwarf with a poison dart, and an invisible man** It was a bit unsettling for the other six guested seated with them; topics on cadavers were rather too much for them to stomach.

The lavish five course meal left all feeling extremely content with the rich food sitting in their stomach's slowly digesting. It was to the pleasure of the three men; Sherlock, John, and Lestrade, that dancing would follow in the next hour. That was the prime moment to capture the criminal who had been leaving mysterious taunting notes for the Yard.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Please ladies and gentlemen would you adjourn to the ballroom to enjoy the musical selection," the maître announced professionally.

"Splendid timing," Sherlock whispered to John who was sitting on the left, "everything is going just as planned."

The guests rose and trickled into the elegantly decorated room filled with lively dancing music provided by a world-renowned chamber ensemble. Molly saw her husband's expression turn to one of sheer delight when they heard the violin playing the solo part in the waltz.

It was a waltz he oft played himself when he was in a content state. As with most waltz, this one was presented in 3/4 time and a gentle rhythm that allowed the Holmes' to dance entire room for mapping out the plan. Sherlock deftly spun his wife in graceful slow circles so she could discreetly eye the suspect's interaction with the target.

"Sherlock, I think I found him. He matched the description you and John gave Mary and me earlier. Now what do we do?"

"We catch him my dear. Lead the way and I'll talk. Take my cues and in no time he will be led away in handcuffs." He chucked far too happy for any sane person, but then again he wasn't just anyone. Catching criminals were his forte, not the arrest- that was Lestrade's job.

Molly perched on his arm in the typical ladylike fashion easily gliding between the other dancing couples until they made it to the far side of the ballroom which led down a narrow side hallway. It probably was used by the staff for taking away and bringing out food and drink. Mary, John, and Lestrade notice their companions' hasty but nonchalant fancy footwork that took them away from the rest of the guests, so followed suit down the hall.

By the time the rest of the party had joined in the small room with the criminal, Sherlock had already chained him to a light fixture. He was shamelessly gloating for capturing the offending one and closing the case. Lestrade called in his team to handle the situation, it would be a terrible shame to waste such a fine event- especially since the company was just as fine. Thus, the spectacularly dressed party resumed the festivities with much more ease now their task was finished.

* * *

Molly took her husband back to the floor just in time for the down beat of the next dance. With grace and much skill, the duo skittered across the hardwood floor in such elaborate manners so Molly's skirt billowed at the grandiose turnouts before resuming the natural dancing holds of ballroom dancing.

Gently outlining his face, Molly softly spoke into his ear, "You promised me a reason for why you have this appearance. Tell me now please, the case is over."

"Very well, it is for two reasons. First, I wanted to be clearly visible for the target and intended criminal. It was crucial for the target to see me and draw out his enemy, that is why I wore red. Secondly, I know you favour this colour so wearing it will make you happy."

Following his lead to change directions, she did not sidetrack from the discussion, "It's lovely of you to think like that. Yes, I do like this colour on you very much, suits you well. Black hair and a bold red- quite the appearance you have tonight. Now, what about these?" She fingered his eyelids closed then rested her head on his shoulder.

After giving a quick peck to her cheek he responded solemnly, "They are contacts to change my eyes into appearing as black holes. Both literally and figuratively," her breath hitched knowing the ever-constant pain of unsaid words about his lack of sight. Though much time has past since he became legally blind, behind the stoic facade of pleasantries the blindness still affects him, "This is a masquerade. I come tonight as Erik, you are my Christine. I know that is your favourite book."***

He moved his arms to cup her small waist whilst hers joined around his neck- it was the heels that made it possible for her to reach as so, "From our interactions tonight and whilst dancing, I conclude that your dress is a corset beaded bodice with a full skirt puffed out by many under layers and a petticoat. Your shoulders are semi-bare, only a capped sleeves covers them when your arms are poised for me to spin you. I'm assume it's a small V-cut form neckline studded in small rhinestones which occasionally pricked me when we danced." Molly placed his hand around her neck so he could confirm what he had already deduced correctly.

"You are correct, Erik. I hope you found the dress pleasing as you say I'm now Christine. There now, it was more enjoyable for you to deduce it than have me describe it aloud. Please don't wear those again, I'd much rather your beautiful natural eye colour than that horrid blackness. It makes me very sad to think of that for you."

"For you Molly," he held her close as they traversed the room slowly to the rhythm of the music, "I should not feel any remorse or second thoughts if I lost my remaining sight, or simply did not have eyeballs. It is not of a visual means that pleases me, you know I am far above that level of thinking. You please me with your good words and thoughtful gestures, those are what I find most important, not of what your wear tonight or what you look like. Though I shall always remember what you looked like on our wedding day- it was, you recall, my final days of light perception."

She gazed adoringly at him in the red festive garb. There was no doubt that Sherlock did not absolutely love his wife, but it wasn't always plainly evident as most couples portray their love. The Holmes' love was a beautiful, intricate, and complex tangle of words and gestures that didn't blatantly say "I love you." There was no need of that for either one of them. A simple nod from her husband or a soft "Yes, of course" from his wife was had more meaning than the most drawn-out love poem or speech.

* * *

**A-N: Thank you for reading! Sincere apologies for the long delay! This plot now being tied into the current chapters of "Watching Over Each Other"- updated recently.**

*****This short story was inspired by the wonderful book "Le Fantôme d'Opéra" (Phantom of the Opera) written by Gaston Leroux and the Lloyd-Weber film adaptation with G. Butler/E. Rossum.**

**The film adaptation dresses Erik in a rich red coloured suit with a grey-white masque covering the upper portion of the face, leaving only two black round holes where his eye would be located. At the masquerade in the novel, he is known as "Red Death". ****Erik's visage is malformed and scarred from birth, thus lacking a defined nose and ear shapes. His eyeballs are sunken deep into the head, so the only visible part of his eyes are the two black eye sockets. Despite their poor formation, he has excellent vision.**


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